


views

by lavish (valerian)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Oral Sex, i never thought i'd write these words but: inspired by drake, not a songfic, takumi-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 17:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8293384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valerian/pseuds/lavish
Summary: Takumi must bear the the burden of who he is. But it's tough. There’s too much turmoil woven into the very fabric of his soul.Five Takumi-centric drabbles across a few different timelines.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ya girl here is a huge fan of Drake. Maybe too huge a fan. So I went ahead and made myself a Drake writing challenge by randomly picking five songs and, from those five songs, picking my favorite lyrics from each and writing corresponding drabbles. Please note that the storylines may not be consistent across drabbles.
> 
> Also, one of them is really dirty. 8)
> 
> Please enjoy.

If I were you, I wouldn’t like me either.

_Views_

 

He’s not in this war to be liked. Why should he be in anything to be liked?

To be liked is not his intention.

Not when he won’t ever claim the throne for himself. Though, gods forbid, if Ryoma were to fall and Hinoka as well—

Takumi puts it out of his mind.

He’s fighting this war to win. To watch his arrow fly through the air and hit his targets, on point every time, those unsuspecting bodies all falling down, down, down.

Some of the smaller brained and larger torso-ed members of their army like to whisper that archers are cowards, man, cowards ‘cuz they don’t e’er have to be in _real_ combat, bro, which is the _only_ way to fight—up close and personal, so you can smell yer opponents’ blood on yer hands.

 _Yeah, bro, I love that smell._ Iron and blood. Iron _in_ blood, as well as steel in blood, silver in blood, slashing, hacking, chopping, body parts flying and hair matted against your face with sweat.

Blind killing.

Which Takumi has no use for.

He has no use for hair in his eyes.

(His line of sight must be clear at all times.)

He has no use for body parts flying.

(Death is the same destination, no matter how you get there.)

He has no use for iron in blood.

(The Fujin Yumi is a magical artifact.)

He has no use for blood on his hands.

(But, let’s be clear: he most certainly has blood on his hands.

Just because you don’t see the stains doesn’t mean they’re not there.

The stains on his hands, the stains on his heart.

That dank, rusty smell.

It can’t be scrubbed, no matter how many baths he takes.

It can’t be outrun, no matter how many laps he attempts every morning, a quick jog morphing into a couple miles, then several miles around the lake.)

_You are not good enough, and nobody likes you._

(Fuel for his anger, food for his soul.)

 

I taste pain and regret, in your sweat.

You’ve been waiting for me.

_Practice_

 

To lose his virginity to somebody like this, somebody whose sexuality oozes from every facet of her being: the way she walks, the way she talks, the way she flips her hair, and the way she drops to her knees as she tugs his pants off to press her full, luscious lips against his erection. 

How lucky he is.

He doesn’t have to do much when it happens. He just props himself up against a sturdy tree trunk, the hard parts of his body shielded from the world by foliage and Princess Camilla’s face.

“You taste salty,” she mutters against him.

His cock twitches, and he blushes and covers his eyes with the back of a hand. How is he being criticized right now, _in this moment?_

“I-Is that a problem?” He chews his lower lip. “Surely, s-surely—”

She puts his anxiety to bed with a kiss. He thrusts against her, his cock leaving a wet trail along her cheek.

“Of course not, sweetheart.” She holds him still with a hand on his hip, planting another kiss on his head, sampling his pre-cum. “I like it a lot.”

He whines. Her tongue starts to lave the length of his shaft, and it feels _so, so good._ “P-Princess Camilla—”

Slurping noises as she suddenly takes him into her mouth, intensifying the moment. He’s pretty sure he’s never felt this much pleasure in his _entire fucking life,_ not when he first learned how to wield a bow; not when he lodged an arrow in a rabbit’s eye on one shot; not even when his father had told him he was so proud to have such a strong boy, who’ll be such a good hunter one day, just look at that face.

He starts to fuck her mouth with no regard for how she must feel; his cock hits the back of her throat until she gags, so beautiful a sound. He cums to this sound, his seed shooting and dribbling down into her belly.

When she pulls away, she wipes at the tears that have welled in her eyes.“I like your taste very much, darling.” She sticks her tongue out for his inspection, drool and cum dripping down her chin. “I swallowed every drop. See?”

Panting and trembling in the aftermath, his legs finally give way.

He sinks to the forest floor.

 

Damn is it the fall?

Time for me to revisit the past.

_HYFR (Hell Ya Fucking Right)_

 

He never means to be nostalgic, but when the feeling hits, it hits _hard._

It’s almost crippling actually, this yearning for the past. Today it has Takumi curled into a ball on the floor. Raindrops pelt the flimsy canvas of his tent, and he wishes he were ten, and at home, again.

At ten, Father was long gone, but Mother…she was there. To soothe him. To run tender fingers through his hair, not yet long but not short either.

“Takumi, my dearest boy…”

She had the most gentle voice, reserved almost solely for her step-children. But Mikoto had always been able to turn up the volume when the occasion demanded. She was as fierce a ruler as she was fair, and Takumi looked up to her, his substitute Mama, giving orders to retainers and providing counsel to her people…

Could he ever do the same?

Not that the throne will ever _be_ his…but as a prince, as a member of the royal family, he almost certainly will assume some sort of leadership role when the war is over.

Ryoma had even warned him of it. _Study up on the nuances of policy-making, Takumi, for fighting is temporary_ …but negotiating? Compromise? Shaking hands and politicking over cups of tea? 

These things last a lifetime.

Takumi sighs and curls up tighter. Fetal position is his favorite when he feels sick. And this feeling…he blames it on his inability to sleep well, what with all the marching through mountain passes and training in his spare time and battling, all that gory brutality. None of this is conducive to particularly sweet dreams.

Even the occasional diversions of Princess Elise’s tea parties and Hinata’s rough-and-tumble fighting competitions haven’t been enough.

There’s too much turmoil woven into the very fabric of his soul.

 

Of course you went and chose a side that wasn’t mine.

_Keep the Family Close_

 

Kill.

He’s going to kill Corrin.

Kill him, he must.

Avenge Hoshido.

Destroy Nohr.

By the heat of his burning, charred pride.

By the noise of his shattering, broken ego.

This body…weak, breakable flesh.

This mind…weak, breakable will.

 _Corrin had his chance._ It’s his fault, his fault, _all his fault._

“Takumi…” The pity in his tone. “What are you—?”

“Kill you. I’ll kill you.”

This body…is it his?

This mind…is it gone? Another plane, another world.

 _Who am I, and can I be liberated?_ He hates this world so. He doesn’t belong here.

“Takumi! There’s no reason to fight. The war is over.”

Brother who never had a chance to be his brother. He wishes they could’ve been different, that they didn’t have to meet this way.

“Die.” He lets an arrow fly.

“Die.” Another one.

“Die!” _Another one._

Another one, another one. Corrin dodges and ducks. He was always good at that. 

 _Betrayal…death…murder._ The only thoughts in his head. The only thoughts he’s allowed. Along with, _Corrin did this to me._

“I’m so sorry, Takumi.” Pleading, begging. “I know you’re mad. I caused you so much pain, but—you can blame me. You can put all your blame on me.”

So he does.

He lets his arrow fly, and this time, he doesn’t miss.

 

Why has it been so long?

_Come Thru_

 

The war is over, and Takumi can finally be with Kiragi the way he wants to.

The way he wants to being: hugs and lunches, hunting trips and picnics. Pranks and practice swordfights.

He’s growing up to be such a strong boy. Inherently gifted with the bow; his soul full of light and love.

And though Takumi must admit that it’s tough to raise a son as a single parent and also a prince, raising his kingdom from its remains…he pulls through. Because Kiragi deserves the best, only the best, and not an ounce less than that.

So he puts on a brave face. He sacrifices his own sleep to make sure Kiragi’s always got a bedtime story and a nighttime kiss, like Mommy used to give. Though there are days, of course, when he wants to apologize to his son, instead of kiss him.

_I’m so sorry we had you in the middle of a war. That we couldn’t devote all our time to you. You were in the deeprealms, and we were always away._

Fighting for your future, Kiragi.

Though now, one-half of your personal guard and champion has passed. There’s only one of us left, son. And he’s trying his best.

He’s trying his best.

 

A tugging at his sleeve.

“Dad?”

A painful tugging at his heart.

“Dad. You okay?”

Takumi glances down at the sweet potato in his hand. It’s still hot. Fragrant.

What was he doing again?

“Pssssst, Dad. You have to pay the man, remember?” Kiragi points at the burly stall-keeper in front of them, tapping a booted foot and glaring at Takumi.

“I haven’t got all day, _your highness._ ”

“Right.” Takumi reaches into his pocket and drops a few coins in the man’s expectant hand. “My apologies.”

Kiragi snickers as they turn from the stall and head down the street. “What were you thinking about, Dad?” Kiragi asks, his brilliant brown eyes wide. “You really lost yourself back there.”

“Ah, it was nothing, son. Here.” He passes the sweet potato to Kiragi’s hands. “Be careful, okay? It’s hot!”

“And yummy!” Kiragi bites into the potato. “Ow, ow, owww! It burned me.”

“Didn’t I _just_ warn you a second ago that it was hot?” Takumi bends down and pinches his son’s cheeks in between his fingers. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out.”

Kiragi does as he says. “Do I have to say ‘ahhh’?”

“Yes. Say ‘ahhh.’”

“ _Ahhhhhhhhhh.”_

Takumi smiles. “Hm. No burns. Though you’ll have to be more careful, okay?” He ruffles his son’s hair. “And it might hurt for a little longer.”

 _“_ Ugh. No fair.” Kiragi pouts, an infamously irresistible expression. Takumi’s smile morphs into a grin.

“There’s a lesson to be learned here, Kiragi. Bad things happen when you don’t listen to your dad.”

“But I was hungry!”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t exercise a little bit of patience now and then! Good things come to those who wait.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s true.” Kiragi sighs. “Mommy used to say that a lot.”

Takumi’s grin disappears, and his heart sinks. He grabs Kiragi’s free hand, squeezing those small, precious fingers between his own.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Takumi stops walking. The sun hangs low overhead, and the people at the stalls around them jostle each other as they bargain for dinnertime groceries.

He looks Kiragi in the eye.

“If Mommy were here, you know she’d tell you how proud of you she is, right? That you’re the best son any mom could have?”

Kiragi blows air at his sweet potato. “Yeah, Dad. Of course I know that. I mean…as long as _you_ know something.”

“And what’s that?”

The sweetest smile lights up Kiragi’s face. The wind rustles his hair.

There’s a small tear on the sleeve of his tunic—collateral damage from all the frolicking he does in the woods. It’ll need mending.

(Good thing Takumi’s finally picked up how to sew.)

“If Mommy were here,” Kiragi says, pulling a piece off the potato and putting it in his mouth. “You know she’d tell you how proud of _you_ she is, right? That you’re the best dad any son could have?”

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recommend y'all listen to "Practice." ;)


End file.
